


In Which There Happen to be Two Men With Golden Eyes

by CirrusGrey



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Crossover, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Relationship can be interpreted as either gen or slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 22:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11793156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirrusGrey/pseuds/CirrusGrey
Summary: Or at least, man-shaped-beings.Note: This story probably won't make sense unless you know both fandoms.





	In Which There Happen to be Two Men With Golden Eyes

It was three o’clock in the afternoon on an ordinary day in November when the door to a certain Mayfair flat was blasted open with a burst of Heavenly force and a shaking angel collapsed into the surprised arms of the inhabitant. 

“Crowley!” he gasped, “it finally happened!”

“Wh-what?” said the startled old lady he had fallen on. “Who are you?”

“Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, my dear,” said Aziraphale, hastily standing up, “is this not the resistance of Mr. A. Crowley?”

“No, that's the nice gentleman that lives upstairs. Are you a friend of his? I've always said he needed a good friend, he looks so high-strung.”

“Uh… yes. Sorry to bother you, I'll just be going.”

He backed out the door. As soon as it closed behind him he was tearing up the stairs and throwing open the door to the next flat.

“Crowley!” he gasped again, “it finally happened!”

Crowley looked up from where he was glaring at wilting ficus. “What happened?”

“I've been contacted!”

“ _ What?! _ When?”

“This morning.” Aziraphale leaned against the wall nearest him to try to get his (unnecessary) breath back. “They said they had been sent to serve justice for interfering in all that trouble last summer. I saw them off with the same arguments we used before about Ineffability, but…”

“But you think they're going to come back?”

“No. They said they wouldn't, and angels never break their word. At least, self-righteous higher-ups like these were never do. It's you I'm worried about. If Heaven’s finally got its act together, Hell can't be far behind.”

Crowley grinned “Aw, it actually sounds like you're  _ worried  _ about me.”

Aziraphale scowled and opened his mouth to speak, but Crowley cut him off. “I'll be fine, angel. If they do come for me, I'll just argue them away, like you did.”

“Something tells me Hell won't be quite so interested in intellectual speculations on the nature of Ineffability, Crowley.”

“Ah, it'll be fine. What's worst they can throw at me?”

 

~~~

 

“All right,” snarled Hastur, calling the meeting to order. “What's the worst we can throw at him?”

There was silence from the other demons around the table as they considered this. 

“Well…” said one, scratching speculatively at his scaled head, “lake of fire’s always pretty popular.”

“No, it has to be worse than that!” said Hastur. “He killed a Duke, for Satan's sake. And stopped the war, of course.”

There was an insectoid buzz from farther down the table. “Bed of nailzzzzz?” scratched the voice.

“Too simple.”

“Bed of nailzzzzz  _ under _ a lake of fire?”

A cough came from the corner of the room. “ _ IF I MIGHT MAKE A SUGGESTION?”  _ the power in the voice seemed utterly opposed to the politeness of the words.

“Better be a good one.” Hastur was snarling again.

Dagon, Lord of the Files, Master of Madness, Under-Duke of the Seventh Torment, shuffled a few papers around in his lap. “ _ WELL, I HAVE LOOKED THROUGH THE RECORDS OF PREVIOUS UNPROVOKED DEMON-TO-DEMON ATTACKS, AND THE PRECEDENT SEEMS TO BE TO PUNISH THE ATTACKER BY SUBJECTING THEM TO WHATEVER HORRORS THEY RELEASED UPON THEIR FELLOW DEMON. THIS SEEMS TO ME TO BE THE ROUTE WE SHOULD FOLLOW, AS THERE IS NO PRECEDENT FOR PUNISHING APOCALYPSE-STOPPERS. WHAT DID YOU SAY HE DID TO DUKE LIGUR?” _

Hastur was grinning. “Holy water. Entire bucket of it.”

“ _ THEN THAT SHALL BE OUR COURSE. IF YOU, DUKE HASTUR, WOULD BE WILLING TO FETCH THE ROGUE DEMON CROWLEY, I COULD ARRANGE FOR THE WATER?” _

_ “ _ Sounds bloody spectacular. Meeting adjourned.”

 

~~~

 

“Look, I'm just worried, that's all!”

“I don't think ‘worried’ is a good enough reason to leave London, angel.”

“But they know to look for you here!”

“They know to look for me  _ anywhere _ . They track my aura. The only way they'd lose track of me is if I go to live in a bloody church surrounded by a bloody divine  _ glow _ all day! ....Why are you looking at me like that? I'm  _ not _ going to live in a church.”

“....My dear, do you honestly think I'm trying to send you away and not planning to go with you?”

“I - what?”

“When I said you needed to go into hiding, I meant  _ we  _ need to go into hiding. You need to leave London because they know to look for you here, and I need go with you so that my aura hides yours.”

“What do you mean, hides mine? Your aura is the same strength as mine, it's not going to cover it up.”

“It doesn't ‘cover it up’. Haven't you noticed? We cancel each other out. Ethereal meets occult, each negates the other, and to an outside observer we may as well be human, as long as we stay close to each other. And your bosses count as outside observers.”

“Oh… I guess that makes sense. But where would we even go? I can't imagine living anywhere but London.”

“Well… I was thinking somewhere rural. Maybe the South Downs?”

 

~~~

 

_ Bloody Earth-based demons,  _ thought Hastur.  _ Bloody outdated demon-tracking technology. Bloody Hell, am I lost again? _

Hastur had been trying to find Crowley for months now, unsuccessfully. He had scoured all of London, Crowley’s last known place of residence, and not turned up a trace. His Mayfair flat had a new occupant, his blasted car was nowhere on the streets, and when Hastur had finally gritted his teeth and gone to harass that weird angel to see if he knew where the demon was, all he found was an empty bookshop. 

And the device that was supposed to lock onto Crowley’s aura and lead him like a compass just kept telling him the signal was lost. What was that even supposed to mean?  _ Bloody outdated -  _ he snarled, drawing worried glances from passersby. 

The only piece of information he had to go on was what Crowley's current corporation looked like, and all he remembered about that was the yellow eyes. He also knew any self-respecting demon would stick to large centers of population, so he did.

Which was why he had moved on from London to the rest of England’s cities, and then to cities over the entire island, and then on to the neighboring island. He had a feeling he was going to have to confront a continent at some point here, and he wasn't looking forward to it. For now, he would stick to Ireland. And now, in Ireland, he was definitely lost.

_ Bloody Dublin.  _

He was on foot, because without a clear destination demonic cars were prone to just wander around aimlessly, but given how aimlessly he was wandering anyway, he may as well have taken a vehicle. However, being on foot did give him some advantages, for it allowed him to stop when he saw the shadowy figures of a woman in grey and an unidentified man standing in an alleyway, talking. Now,  _ this _ looked interesting. If they weren't planning some dark deed already he could certainly draw them into one.  _ Damn sight more engaging than looking for Crowley, anyway. _

 

~~~

 

“... not nearly as enthusiastic for our cause as some of the others.” Ravel was saying. “I could tell he was really starting to believe what Corrival was saying.”

“Do you think there's still a chance of getting him on our side?” asked Madame Mist.

“Not without a lot of work. We don't really need his support right now anyway. He won't be against us, though. I think we can put him down as neutral.”

“I will inform the others. Are you meeting with Deuce again tonight?”

“No, Corrival wants to take a break for a bit. He's slowing down as he gets older. Next week, though, it's off to Germany, then who knows where.”

“Keep us informed.” Mist turned away and began to glide down the alley.

“Count on it,” Ravel called after her, before leaving the alley from the other side and striding off into the city.

 

~~~

 

Hastur would have been giggling with glee, were he the sort of demon who enjoyed giggling or, indeed, felt glee.

Of all the luck! To have stopped for a bit of routine temptation, and instead stumbled upon the target that had been evading him for months! For he had seen the face of the man in the alley, and that man had yellow eyes. Well, maybe golden. It didn't matter. The point was, it was Crowley. 

He followed the man as he set off across the city, sticking to the shadows to avoid being seen by his quarry. 

There was something odd about the man. It took Hastur a few minutes to work out what, but then he had it. His aura. It was completely human. A bit stronger than most human’s, perhaps, but still, not demonic in the slightest. That explained why the tracker wasn't working. The bastard must have found some way to disguise himself. 

Oh well. Hastur had found him now. He waited until the man was walking through a less busy area of the city, and then he jumped him.

 

~~~

 

“I wish you wouldn't drag me all over Hell’s Half-Acre every day.”

“Stop calling my garden that.”

“It's half an acre, Crowley. This has gone far past being a garden. It's a  _ farm. _ ”

“No, it's not, because it's existence is for purely aesthetic purposes. Besides, you don't  _ have _ to follow me, it's your choice. You could choose to stay in the cottage.”

“I need to stay close so our auras cancel each other.”

“It's been months, angel. We're safe. And anyway, I'm sure the cancelation thing works just as well from more than twenty feet away.”

“I'm not willing to take that risk.”

“Then you're going to have to get used to gardening.”

“Farming.”

“Oh, be quiet and pass me the shovel.”

Aziraphale sighed, and passed it. 

 

~~~

 

Ravel was extraordinarily confused. Also in pain, but the confusion was more pressing at this moment in time. 

He had been walking back from his meeting with Madame Mist when he was set upon in an alley by a tall man who seemed to have been following him. This was not so unusual, but the fact that the man had proceeded to beat him in a fair fight was. The subsequent forced march through a portal into a hellish landscape of fire and fumes, imprisonment in a dungeon cell, and mocking by almost-human figures from the shadows outside the bars flew straight passed unusual and landed flat on its face in downright odd. But then, that was magic for you.

That they kept calling him ‘Crowley’ was both unusual and odd, as well as being plain old annoying. At least it gave him some insight into why he was here.

“Look,” he shouted at the mocking figures. “I'm not Crowley. My name is Erskine Ravel, I'm an Elemental sorcerer, I'm a member of the Dead Men, for God's sake! Surely you've heard of me! You've got the wrong person.”

“Lie all you want, Crowley, I know you when I see you.” It was the tall one that had brought him down here. “Though I must admit I'm curious as to what you've done with your aura.”

“My what? Look,” Ravel grabbed the bars of his cell in what was intended to be a threatening manner, but jumped back with a curse. The metal was blisteringly hot.

“Look at what? At the sad little demon who's finally going to get what's coming to him?” There was laughter from their shadowy audience. “This is what you get for stopping our apocalypse, Crowley. This is what you get for all that business with the tire iron. It's time you pay for your actions. It's time you pay for what you did to Ligur.”

The tall man stepped back, and before Ravel had a chance to reply, he was hit in the face by several buckets’ worth of water. He sputtered and stepped back under the onslaught, but didn't bother trying to divert it. After the cloying heat here - wherever ‘here’ was - it was actually kind of refreshing. 

“Okay,” he said, as soon as the deluge stopped. “What the Hell was that? Why are you talking about apocalypses and throwing water at me?”

The tall man was looking at him in consternation. “ _ Why are you still here? _ ”  he hissed, then turned to one of the surrounding figures. “How is he still here?!”

The figure stepped forward. “ _ I DON'T KNOW, DUKE HASTUR.”  _ It's voice grated. “ _ THAT WAS FINEST QUALITY HOLY WATER.” _

“I told you, bed of nailzzzzz….” that voice sounded exasperated. 

“Lake of fire!” shouted another, excited.

Ravel realized he was backing away to the far wall of his cell. He didn't know what was going on, he didn't know why, but the tall man (this was the Duke, he supposed) had a glint in his eyes that said he was willing to take suggestions from the crowd, and apply  _ all _ of them.

“ _ WAIT, WAIT, WAIT!”  _ The grating voice again.  _ “PUNISHMENT HAS ALREADY BEEN DELIVERED! IT MAKES NO DIFFERENCE TO THE PROCEEDINGS THAT HE SURVIVED. THE RULES STAND. HE MUST BE LET FREE.” _

_ “What?!?” _ This was Hastur. “That makes no sense. How is  _ this  _ punishment? He just got a little wet!”

“ _ NEVERTHELESS, PROTOCOL MUST BE FOLLOWED. HE WILL BE LET FREE ON PROBATION. UNLESS YOU WANT TO TAKE IT UP WITH…”  _ The sentence was not finished, but the change in Hastur’s posture made it clear to Ravel that he definitely did  _ not _ want to take it up with the unnamed person. 

“ _ IN THAT CASE, DUKE HASTUR, WOULD YOU TAKE THE POSITION OF PAROLE OFFICER? IT REQUIRES KEEPING AN EYE ON CROWLEY HERE AND DELIVERING REPORTS OF HIS CONDUCT. THERE IS ALWAYS THE POSSIBILITY THAT PUNISHMENT MAY BE REINSTATED.” _

Hastur walked close to the bars of the cell and gave Ravel an evil grin. “You hear that, Crowley? I'll be watching you. You better not put a single toe outta line.”

 

~~~

 

“Okay angel, that was out of line.”

“I merely said I didn't like the color.”

“You said it was the ugliest paint you'd ever seen, and that anyone who thought it would look good in a bedroom must be deranged!”

“I stand by that statement.”

“As I said: out of line.”

“Oh, come on, Crowley. Orange? Really? With  _ yellow  _ trim?”

He glared at the offending paint cans. Remodeling was  _ not _ going well.

“It's a statement.”

“Bedrooms aren't meant to be statements.They're meant to be peaceful.”

“It's not like you're in there much, you never sleep.”

“I'm in there every night! It doubles as my library,  _ if  _ you recall.”

“Fine. Then what color do  _ you _ want to paint our bedroom?”

“Our - ?”

“What?”

“Well, when you say it like that, it almost sounds like we're…”

“So? It's what all the neighbors think, anyway.”

“Do they? Why?”

“Oh come on, angel. It's not like we ever date. And the first few years we were here you stuck to me like a limpet. Even though you've backed off a bit, people make assumptions. Does that bother you?”

“No, I suppose not. They're even right, in a way.”

“Are they?” This was said with a suggestively raised eyebrow. 

“Not in  _ that _ way, my dear. Don't be crude. But we are the most important people in each other's lives, yes? It's the same principle.”

“Yes, I've always thought so. But that's beside the point. Back to the matter at hand: What color do  _ you _ suggest?”

“I've always liked tan, or calming, cool colors like blue.”

“Oh, come on, angel! That's so boring!”

“That's not a bad thing, my dear.”

In the end, they painted it lilac.

 

~~~

 

Case #: 25,738

Subject: * _ unintelligible rune _ * (Other names include Crawly, A.J. Crowley, Serpent of Eden)

Report: Subject has been traveling the world, meeting with the subset of humans known as ‘sorcerers.’ Seems to be working for two groups at once, trying to get one to attack the other. No misconduct observed.  

 

~~~

 

Case #: 25,738

Subject: * _ unintelligible rune _ *

Report: Subject has contrived to get elected to some sort of council. Election involved murders, but did not secure us any souls. Request another attempt at punishment for un-demonic behavior.

 

~~~

 

Case #: 25,738

Subject: * _ unintelligible rune _ *

Report: Punishment failed. Subject displays immunity to Holy Water. Several attempts were made as the subject went about his day, but he was merely confused, not obliterated.

 

~~~ 

 

Case #: 25,738

Subject: * _ unintelligible rune _ *

Report: Subject has used position on council to contrive a war. Actions have led to ripple effect, drawing many humans to dark deeds as well. Recommend dropping charges against him in light of current behavior. 

 

~~~

 

Ravel walked into his office to find a large letter sitting on his desk. He hated paperwork, but it was necessary for a Grand Mage, so with a sigh he opened the envelope. An elegant piece of paper fell out.

 

_ Congratulations! _

_ ...to the demon  Crowley for excellence in tarnishing souls. You have earned a Commendation _

_ for your work  starting a war, encouraging betrayal, and causing chaos. _

_ Your efforts are much appreciated. _

 

Even though it was clearly intended for a different recipient, Ravel was shaken. The name was wrong, but the actions were his. Seeing them laid out on paper was… disturbing. 

He shook the doubts away. Progress always came at a price, and it was far too late to turn back now.

He snapped his fingers to create a spark, incinerated the paper, and went on with his day. It was just another piece of nonsense from that cult that had been hounding him since the nineties, anyway. He wouldn't let it affect him. He had other things to worry about. 

 

~~~

 

Case #: 25,738

Subject: * _ unintelligible rune _ *

Report: Humans have taken exception to the subject's actions and contrived their own punishment. Subject is being pretty useless right now but seems to be suffering nicely. 

 

~~~

 

Case #: 25,738

Subject: * _ unintelligible rune _ *

Report: Subject has disappeared from existence under no known cause.

 

~~~

 

Case #: 25,738

Subject: * _ unintelligible rune _ *

Report: Retraction of last statement - subject has shown up again and is still useless, though no longer suffering. Recommend reinstating charges and punishing him for disappearing on the job.

 

~~~

 

Case #: 25,738

Subject: * _ unintelligible rune _ *

Report: Retraction of last statement - subject has disappeared under known causes. The humans found a way to destroy him utterly. File on the demon Crowley should be closed for eternity. 

 

~~~

 

It was three o’clock in the afternoon on an ordinary day in November when Aziraphale posed the question. 

“Do you think we should move back to London?”

They were in the living room. The angel was sitting on the couch reading while Crowley tended his indoor plants.

“Why would we do that?”

“I know you never wanted to leave in the first place. And by this point even I'm convinced you're never going to be sent for. It would be safe.”

Crowley sat on the couch next to him. “I'm not sure. Ten years ago I would have been out the door and halfway to the city before you even finished the question, but this place has grown on me.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Me too. But I'll leave the decision in your hands.”

“In that case…” Crowley paused, looking out the window. It was cold outside today, and he could see Hell’s Half-Acre, neatly covered and mulched in preparation for the winter. Inside it was warm. The afternoon sunlight was slanting in the windows, the fireplace was crackling, and the plants were nicely terrified. Everything felt soft, and slow, and peaceful. Crowley pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and burrowed into it in preparation for a nap.

“... Let's stay here. At least for now.”

Aziraphale smiled again, stole half the blanket, and went back to reading. 


End file.
